The air in Tarkov crackles with more than just gunfire; it hums with secrets buried under rubble and locked behind doors groaning with neglect. For the daring PMCs navigating its corpse-littered streets, the Therapist’s plea isn't just another chore—it’s a race against decay itself. Preserve vital medical history? Sounds noble, sure, but in this graveyard of concrete and consequence, fetching paperwork feels like defusing a bomb where every shadow could hide the pin-puller. Talk about a high-stakes filing cabinet run!

Gearing Up: More Than Just Paperwork

Before you even think about waltzing into the Therapist's errand, Tarkov demands its pound of flesh. You gotta be Level 15, hardened enough that the map's whispers don't freeze your trigger finger. And those keys? Oh, those aren't just lying around! The RB-KSM and RB-SMB keys are like ghosts haunting the Customs Dorms – phantoms rumored to cling to dead Scavs' jackets or lurk in the dusty guts of forgotten crates. Finding them is less 'treasure hunt,' more 'desperate gamble against the RNG gods.' Pray to Nikita, folks, 'cause without these shiny little devils, you're just sightseeing in a sniper's gallery.

Reserve: Where Loot Dreams and Nightmares Collide

So you've got the keys. Big whoop. Now comes the real party: Reserve. This map ain't just big; it's a sprawling, open-mouthed beast hungry for careless boots. Sure, it promises riches – Bitcoin glinting like fool's gold, fuel cans begging to be siphoned, medkits practically glowing. But every crate, every corner, every creaking floorboard screams AMBUSH! Heading into the White Bishop building? Buddy, you better come dressed for the apocalypse:

• Armor thicker than your grandma's winter stew: Because Scavs and player-haters don't knock.

• Ammo that bites harder than a rabid dog: Peashooters need not apply.

• Nerves of solid steel: One wrong step, and poof – your kit's gone forever. No insurance? Tough luck, comrade. Tarkov giveth, and Tarkov taketh away... permanently. It’s just another Tuesday, really.

White Bishop: Your Document Dungeon Deluxe

Alright, you made it to White Bishop. Breathing? Good. Now, ascend to the second floor – a labyrinth of locked doors and lingering death. Finding the folders ain't rocket science, but it is like finding needles in a warzone haystack:

Snag both precious paper bundles? Don't start celebrating yet! The most butt-clenching part remains: Extraction. That timer counts down slower than molasses in January, and every rustle, every distant shot, feels like the Grim Reaper clearing his throat. Keep that weapon ready until you're safely in the loading screen. Trust vanishes faster than meds in a firefight here.

The Sweet, Sweet Cha-Ching of Survival

You did it! You wrestled paperwork from the jaws of oblivion (and probably a few PMCs). Time for Therapist to cough up the goodies. As of 2025, the rewards still sing a sweet, albeit slightly variable, tune depending on how smart your hideout really is:

• Massive EXP Boost: A whopping 7,200 EXP straight to the dome! Leveling up never felt so... medical?

• Reputation Points: +0.03 Therapist Rep. Every little bit helps when you need that next life-saving gizmo.

• Cold, Hard Roubles: 💰

  • Base Pay: 30,000 R

  • Intelligence Center Lvl 2: 31,500 R (Cha-ching!)

  • Intelligence Center Lvl 3: 34,500 R (Big money moves!)

• Medical Lifelines:

  • 5x CALOK-B Hemostatic applicators (For when lead poisoning needs immediate attention)

  • 1x Grizzly Medical Kit (The big daddy of patch-up kits)

  • 1x Ibuprofen Painkillers (Because surviving Tarkov gives one heck of a headache)

So yeah, Disease History. It’s not glamorous. It’s keys, locked doors, and papercuts in a place where papercuts are the least of your worries. But surviving it? Pulling those folders from the maw of Reserve and living to spend the Roubles? That’s the kind of victory that tastes sweeter than any loot. Just remember: In Tarkov, even the paperwork bites back. Good luck out there, you glorious, document-fetching maniacs.